


Bitter Sweet Love Letters

by tysroses



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Childhood Trauma, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee Are Best Friends, M/M, Mark Lee & Lee Taeyong Are Siblings, Mark Lee (NCT) is a Panicked Gay, Pining, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tysroses/pseuds/tysroses
Summary: It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since Mark first saw the yellow glow of fluorescent light bulbs, spilling through the windows of the house next door once again.or Mark has a crush on the boy who moves in next door
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	1. The Space Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!! and welcome to my first chaptered fic :) As i’m sure u all know today is mark’s birthday YAY <3 so i decided i would get the first chapter up today. 
> 
> Just a warning, but this fic has some pretty heavy themes of homophobia later on so PLEASE BE WARE.
> 
> I’ve already written a good chunk of this fic so updates should b pretty fast. Other than that please make sure to tweet mark’s birthday hashtags and support the nations ace!

It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since Mark first saw the yellow glow of fluorescent light bulbs, spilling through the windows of the house next door once again. 

It was strange at first. After months of the house remaining vacant, Mark had become accustomed to the dull tones of the panes. He’d stared out of his window most nights, just watching the way the moon shone; reflected in a perfect crescent as it floated in the bottomless inky blue of the neighbouring casement. 

He remembers the day it was put up for sale. 

A crisp winter morning just barely into January. The grass crunched under his feet, but despite the silvery frost that lay atop it, the sun still beamed down brightly.

He scuffed his worn white converse against the gravel path; a petulant form of protest against his mother, who had forced him outside to collect the mail on one of his last days of winter break. Hugging the plush material of his favourite grey jumper close to his skin, he breathed in the biting wind that whipped around his face. 

What he would give to still be curled into his duvet right now.

It was just as he reached the pavement, still dusted with unthawed ice, that his eyes caught on the red and white sign that stood tall in his neighbour’s garden. 

The colours seemed too brazen for the quiet suburban street, but still, they stood proud. 

‘Alison&Carter Estate Agents: FOR SALE’

Mark’s brows had furrowed at that. He knew Mr and Mrs Park. They’d lived in that house for over 20 years; since long before Mark was born. It seemed odd to imagine the elderly couple leaving.

He probably would’ve contemplated it more, had it not been for the particularly icy breeze that’d begun to sink its claws into Mark’s already cold burned cheeks. So, with a renewed sense of urgency, he pulled open the rusty red mail box and retrieved the three (slightly damp) envelopes from within. 

Letting his legs carry him back over gravel and half-frozen grass, he attempted to ignore the way the cold seemed to thrum through his fingertips as he pushed down on the brass handle of his front door.  
He let it swing open, and was greeted with a strange mix of cinnamon candles and something else, sickly sweet, he couldn't quite place.

That was three months ago now.

Mark smiles to himself at his window-side desk, breathing in the fresh feel of spring. He remembers being sad about the Parks leaving initially. They were friendly after all and occasionally even brought them fresh pastries when they’d been baking; free food is always a win in Mark's book.

But the new neighbors seem fine. They keep to themselves and in the short time they’ve been there, they haven’t done anything to bother anyone. 

Now Mark really doesn’t want to tempt fate but, they just seem...normal. 

A normal family, in a normal house, in a normal suburb. Honestly, Mark doesn’t know what he was expecting. Rolling his eyes at his weird train of thought, he drops his head back down to his algebra homework; it would be enough of a miracle if _he_ could decipher his own messy scribbles, let alone his poor maths teacher.

Just as he’s starting to get back into a comfortable rhythm, he hears the gentle click of a door closing carried by the breeze. On instinct, he lifts his head, squinting his eyes slightly to see through the afternoon sun.

It hadn’t sounded like it had come from his own bedroom door behind him, so he finds himself looking straight across to the white exterior of the neighboring home. His eyes wander down to the back garden, where a middle aged couple sit on matching deck chairs, drinking wine in the fading light of late spring. 

“ _Mr and Mrs Suh_.” Mark recalls his mother’s words from a few days prior; when they had gone round to greet the two with freshly baked cookies. The image brings a smile to his face.

His focus drifting, Mark lets his gaze shift to the window across from him. At this time of day the sun catches the panes, glazing the glass with white and near blinding all those that dare to look at it. Now Mark normally wouldn’t consider anything important enough to risk losing a retina over, but in that moment, something catches his eye. 

A dark shape shifts behind the glass, wandering in the strange light of the half-lit room.

Giving into his curiosity, Mark reaches for his glasses beside him. Sliding them carefully up his nose, he squints again at the sun's garish reflection. Why can’t he just snoop in peace?

Thankfully, after only five minutes of risking blindness, the sun tucks itself behind a particularly large cloud. Small blessings, Mark thinks to himself as he’s finally able to get a good look inside the dark room.

Standing in the centre, perfectly framed by the white Victorian style casement, is what can only be described as an _actual_ god. On instinct, Mark rubs his ink smudged hands under his glasses; in an attempt to banish whatever weird daydream he is currently having. Nothing changes.

Still not entirely convinced, he pinches his wrist hard; almost eliciting a tiny scream at the force. Ok, he definitely isn’t dreaming.

Armed with this new information, he directs his gaze back to the window. 

Inside, he sees the boy run his long fingers through his thick brown hair. The messy strands flop back over his face, giving him that sort of nonchalant-beauty look; effortlessly stunning with minimal effort. His facial features are full of sharp lines, sloping into angled curves, sculpted so perfectly you’d think he was carved in stone. Honestly, Mark wouldn’t be surprised if he was, with the way he stands there looking like some sort of ancient greek deity. 

At this point, he isn’t actually sure if he’s slipped into some insane self-indulgent coma, as he watches a few beads of sweat glitter on the boy's brow. Almost in slow motion, they trickle down his face, pooling in the dips of his muscular shoulders exposed by his tank top.

Mark feels his breath hitch as warmth floods his face; burning with the full heat of the setting sun. He really feels like he shouldn’t be watching this. Drawing in a steady breath, he drags his clammy hands down his face; his inner pervert is running rampant and he’s really beginning to feel like a creep. 

Just as Mark is managing to calm his thundering heart, he sees the boy’s honey arms move to pull off the loose material of the black vest.

Shooting up, he cracks his bare knees against the underside of his wooden desk. Letting out a pitiful whine, he near enough scrambles out of his spinning chair, falling to the floor with a heavy thunk. 

If he thought his face was red before, it’s truly nothing compared to the deep crimson colouring his cheekbones now. Pulling his slightly carpet-burned knees from the rug, Mark lowly whines as he stands up and hangs his head. 

Why is he like this?

Massaging his temples in an attempt to burrow into his stupid brain, he’s caught off guard by the sweet chuckle carried airily by the wind. He whips his head around so fast that he wouldn’t be surprised if he wakes up tomorrow with whiplash.

Standing across from him, hair lightly tousled by the breeze from his now open window, stands the boy. A teasing smile plays gently on his lips and his eyes almost sparkle in a strangely familiar way. It’s all a little much if he's honest and Mark is nothing short of mesmerised.

That’s when it hits him. The beautiful honey coloured skin, the deep brown shining eyes (and of course the fact that he’s currently standing inside the house next door), this must be the Suh’s son.

Johnny.

Johnny Suh.

He can feel Johnny’s eyes burning into him from across the narrow gap between them. It’s like he’s daring him. Waiting to see who’ll look away first.

Mark knows the answer.

If he can take away anything from the final glance the boy throws his way, before Mark is bolting out his room and slamming the door behind him, it’s that _this_ is most definitely going to be interesting. 

The smirk playing on Johnny's lips tells him as much.

♡

“I’m telling you,” Mark mumbles into his phone as he lays across the living room sofa (he’s not returned to his room since his earlier incident), “He is seriously gorgeous. I’m talking like _model_ material here Donghyuck. Fucking model material!” 

He hears a wistful sigh crackle through from the other end of the line and can’t help but roll his eyes. Mark should have known Hyuck would be utterly useless on the topic of boys. 

“Marky I want receipts.” Donghyuck practically whines, somehow managing to send his pout through the phone. “You can’t tell me you have a hot neighbour and then not show me pictures of said hot neighbor. That’s like, actual gay blasphemy!” 

Mark can again do nothing more than roll his eyes. He honestly doesn’t know what he expected.

“Hyuckie, I’m not taking pictures of my new and probably extremely straight neighbor, who I’ve never even talked to by the way, just so _you_ can drool over him. You’re not worth stalking charges.” 

He hears an offended gasp cross the line, dragging a quiet giggle from himself with the way sarcasm practically drips off his best friends lips. 

“Fine! I know when I’m not wanted,” the voice carries on; a few faux sniffles added in for dramatic effect. 

“Hyuuuuck,” Mark drags out, desperate to get the focus back to the problem at hand. “Shut up and tell me what I’m meant to do! He watched me eat shit right in front of him, which probably means he saw me staring, so now he’s gonna think I’m just some random creepy kid!” 

Mark buries his head in his hands as he finishes his rant, listening to the tired sigh that filters through the tiny speaker pressed to his ear. 

“Mark, I think I actually hate you. You know you’re the worst gay in existence right?” 

“Hyuck I get that being a little bitch is like your only personality trait, but please shut the fuck up for like two seconds and help me out here? This shit _is_ your speciality after all.” Mark whines in that tone he knows Donghyuck just can’t stand.

He hears a long suffering sigh from the other side, shortly followed by muffled rustling noises.

“Look, obviously I don’t know this guy so I’m just gonna have to give you my default ‘flirting with extremely hot and/or possibly straight guys’ tactic. Ok?” 

Mark lets out a pained moan as the other pauses slightly; probably for some weird sort of ‘dramatic effect’ knowing Hyuck.

“Go round and give him some cookies or something. Everyone always says ‘the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach’. I mean seriously, who would turn down a cute boy with sweets?... that’s right, not even a stinky het. It’s low risk, not too forward and easy to play off as ‘just being friendly’ if you need to. Not to mention it’s something to talk about. So, in conclusion, shut up and go get your mans.”

Hyuck sounds far too pleased with himself.

“Ok and what if his parents answer? What do I do then oh great and powerful Lord Haechan?” Mark asks in his most condescending tone; something he finds he reserves solely for his best friend. 

“Well my humble disciple Minhyung, perhaps you should wait until they go out?”

Mark has to give it to him, he always gives back as good as he gets.

“Well Duckie, I hate to say it but I think you might’ve just given me some good advice there,” He manages as he stands from his sofa, dragging his feet along the plush cream carpet; anything to avoid going back to his room. 

“I might make something now.” Mark continues as he reaches the living room door, pulling it open and decidedly steering clear of the stairway. “Maybe shortbread? They’re easy and they keep well too.” He can practically hear Donghyuck’s eyes roll.

“Marky, I know full well you haven’t finished your algebra homework yet.” the younger chastises. “Stop being a pussy. Just go upstairs or I’ll tell Taeyong you’re failing maths.”

Mark promised himself he wouldn’t be seen in his room for a week at the very least. However, there’s a very fatal flaw in his plan: his best friend is Satan.

Turning on his heels, he stalks back towards the stairs; mumbling an array of colourful words under his breath as he stomps up the short staircase. Why is he friends with Hyuck again? 

Daring to crack his door open in the slightest, he allows his head to peak into the room. The sun’s gone by now, leaving only a pinky hue to be reflected by the pane as it displays a, mercifully, empty bedroom. Gentle rays washes the entire side of the next door house in rose, nearly making Mark miss the small box of creamy white interrupting it.

Silently, he does a double take, allowing himself to slip further into the room for a better look. 

Sure enough, taped to the inside of Johnny’s window across from him, is a small piece of white paper. One corner flutters in the cool wind as it licks cruelly at the flimsy material. 

Mark allows himself to step a little closer; squinting just slightly to try and make out the smudgy writing. Almost on instinct, he uses his free hand to reach for the silver frame of his glasses, sitting idly on the desk in front of him. Gently, he pushes them up to the bridge of his nose. 

Scrawled across the sheet in large, messy letters:

‘hi i’m johnny. how’s ur knee? ;)’

“Hyuck, you’re definitely not gonna believe this one.”

♡

“Now how the fuck is it that out of everyone here, _you_ get the hot next door neighbour?” Jaemin whines as he throws his, rather pathetic looking, french fry at Mark's head. 

“Jaemin shut up, you literally live next to _the_ Huang Renjun. Don’t you dare complain.” Jeno pipes up from across the table; in a voice slightly too loud for a school canteen. 

Mark makes a mental note to punch Donghyuck in the face later for telling their other friends. To be honest, looking at the shit eating grin on his best friend's face is making it really difficult to not just do it right now. 

“So did you respond?” Hyuck speaks up from across the table.

Mark makes sure to send the younger his most poignant glare; he hopes to someday set him on fire. 

“No Donghyuck, I did not.” Mark grits out through a purposefully fake smile, not missing the way the other’s lips twitch up into a sickening smirk.

He hears the collective gasp that comes from his two other friends, both slapping their hands to their chests and clutching their hearts in perfect synchronicity. Mark lets himself fall back in his chair, hoping he topples over and dies before he has to suffer through yet _another_ nomin love lecture.

“Mark Lee, I raised you better than this!” Jaemin practically yells, leaning over the greasy table to shove an accusatory finger into his face.

“Nana I’m older than y-“

“I swear to god if you intend to play the part of the cliché love-struck, pining teen, you have another thing coming mister.” Jeno tuts from beside him.

Bringing his hands to his face, Mark attempts to massage out the pressure in his temple, before his head actually explodes. He is definitely gonna punch Hyuck for this one. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what to say ok? It’s only been a day.” Mark presses out.

“Yes, but knowing you Marky, a day turns into a week, which turns into a month, which turns into a year, which turns into you dying sad and alone. I just want what's best for you.” Donghyuck feigns sincerity as he stretches over to pat Mark's shoulder.

Jaemins and Jeno hum in unison, exchanging twin looks of agreement before focusing back on Mark. God, he really hates their creepy mind melt thing sometimes.

“Besides, what is there to say apart from ‘yeah thanks’ and then like, a smiley face or something?” Jaemin asks incredulously.

“But don’t forget to tell him your name too.” Jeno adds on, earning an appreciative nod from Nana in the process.

Mark can see very clearly, that he is _not_ going to get out of this one. 

Letting out a defeated sigh, he rolls his eyes before levelling his friends with a withering glare. “I’ll do it tonight.”

“Great!” Jeno chirps, “Just make sure to send us a picture as proof ok?” Mark inwardly cringes at how much his friend sounds like an overprotective mum.

Mark's distaste must be pretty obvious, because suddenly Jaemin’s lighting up with that sickly sweet smile of his. “Make sure to invite us to the wedding baby.” He grins, before jumping off his seat to dodge the flying piece of lettuce Mark sends his way.

♡

Mark is _not_ nervous. The light tremor in his finger tips can easily be explained by the brisk April breeze creeping under his thin coat. 

His brother had warned him this morning. He’d smiled in that beautifully innocent way he always does, as he pointed out the weather report on his phone screen.  
Mark had only taken the wind breaker to stop his incessant nagging. 

As a particularly rough gust of wind sends his brown hair tumbling into his eyes, he reminds himself to heed Taeyong’s warnings in the future; he should have learned by now that the older boy is _always_ right. 

Turning off the little bystreet, he suddenly misses the creaking of the old trees above his head, as they’re replaced by the low rumble of suburban life. He watches the cars drive by, stepping in time to the slow bass filtering through a passing truck’s open window. 

He can see the faded cream of his house coming into view. His brothers beat up, red Toyota is parked in the drive, but his mother’s sleek, black Audi is still absent. Mark thinks he vaguely remembers something about her working late tonight. 

With every step he takes, he feels his heart kick a little more violently at his rib cage; he really doesn’t think that can be good for his health. 

Still, he powers on. 

Lengthening his strides slightly, in an attempt to display a little more confidence than he feels, he covers the few meters left between him and the entryway quickly. Extending a (still slightly shaking) hand, he pulls the heavy door open.

Almost instantly, he’s greeted by the quiet hum of the TV and the scent of something freshly baked as it drifts down the hall. He allows himself a sigh as he soaks in the comfort of his own home; dropping his bag to the floor and kicking off his well worn school shoes in the process.

The noise must have traveled down the hall, because the next thing he knows his brother is bursting through the kitchen door. Mark has to stifle a laugh -instantly feeling his pounding heart begin to subside at the sight before him.

Taeyong stands in the hallway, light blue hair coated in flour and batter-splodged apron still hanging around his neck. His smile is infectious; curling through his cheeks and rounding out his doe eyes. Mark simply shakes his head.

“Marky Moo! How was school? Did you have a good day?” his older brother sings as he rushes forward to catch Mark in a tight hug.

He manages to press a small laugh to the elders chest, as he attempts to move himself to a position where he can actually answer his brother's question. 

“Yes Yongie, I had a good day thank you. School was fine, I ate lunch and I didn’t kill Hyuck. All is well.” he smiles as Taeyong finally loosens his hold. 

“Tae, let the poor kid breathe.” A voice calls from behind them, causing Taeyong to let out a pouty whine and Mark to giggle quietly. “Hey Doyoung.” he manages as he slips out of his brother's arms.

At this point, Doyoung is basically his second sibling. Taeyong had started dating him back in his last year of high school and they’re still going strong almost two years later. 

He lets himself fall into the hug offered to him, smiling against the plush fabric of the elders jumper. He lets himself forget for a second, about boys and embarrassment and pushy friends who mean well. Closing his eyes he lets out a little sigh, feeling all his frustrations drain from his body.

Doyoung brings a gentle hand up to stroke at his hair, as he begins to speak again “We’ve been doing some baking. Don’t suppose you’d be interested in cupcakes?” He whispers. Mark whips his head up at that, devilish smile overtaking his face. 

“I’m surprised you let Yong cook, we all know he’s a walking safety hazard. He didn’t set anything on fire did he? ” He stage-whispers to Doyoung, who simply rolls his eyes and pushes him into the kitchen.

“Oh you brat! I make sweets and this is how you thank me!” Taeyong yells from behind them, but Mark can hear the laugh threatening to give away his brother's faux anger. 

Taking a seat at the kitchen island, he allows himself to breathe in the sweetness of the air surrounding him. He thinks Taeyong must have dropped a bag of icing sugar with the way it clings to him, sitting heavy on his tongue. 

Taeyong saunters in a moment later, attaching himself to Doyoung’s side where he practically hangs off his arm. Mark has to smile. They _are_ sickeningly cute; everyone has always said so. They seem to light up any room with their excited chatter and sparkling eyes. It’s practically infectious; Mark really wished he could catch whatever it is. 

“Tadahhh!” Taeyong beams, placing a tray of, surprisingly, good looking cupcakes under his nose. 

“Now eat up, cause after we’re gonna talk about whatever it is that’s making you all pouty ok?”

Mark hadn’t even realised he’d been pouting, but as Taeyong pokes his cheeks with furrowed brows, he feels the phantom crease in his eyebrows lift. Pulling on his best smile, he reaches for a pretty pink cake with rainbow sprinkles.

Maybe it’ll help to talk to a loved up couple.

♡

Taeyong and Doyoung _definitely_ don’t help.

They laugh for around five minutes when he recounts the faithful first meeting (Taeyong actually slides off Doyoung lap and into a crumpled mess on the floor at one point), and the two have now been cooing at him for almost a full half hour; he’s really starting to regret his life choices. 

Letting out a frustrated groan, he flops back onto the sofa; they’d all migrated to the living room after finishing off the cupcakes. He lets his arms fall over his face in a show of frustration; it definitely has nothing to do with hiding the wicked blush creeping up his cheeks.

Amidst his suffering, he hears the rowdy couple begin to collect themselves. He listens as they clear their throats, waiting silently for the tell tale squeaking of the floorboards around the settee to let him know they’re approaching. 

“Mark,” He feels a warm weight come to rest on his shoulder, another lightly pulling his hands from his blushing skin. “I’m sorry for laughing and I mean that.”

He cracks his eyes open just slightly, to see his brother's soft smile looking down on him. To his right, Doyoung stands, an arm wrapped around his boyfriend's waist, with a similarly warm look painting his features. The two share a glance, seemingly conversing through their eyes in the quiet room. Doyoung is the one to continue.

“You just… reminded us of, well, us you know? It’s cute. It’s just like, weird I guess, since we're the ones giving advice now.” Doyoung smiles in a way that shows the happy memories playing behind his eyes; sweet like the buttercream still lingering on Mark's tongue. 

“You’re making us feel old!” Taeyong whines as he pouts down at his younger brother in an attempt to make him smile; it works.

“You _are_ old.” Mark gives back, smirk playing on his lips.

Taeyong gasps as he throws a hand to his head, using his other to fan himself as he falls into Doyoung. “Marky you wound me!” he fake cries. Mark has to laugh; his brother’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

Doyoung chuckles along with him, swatting his boyfriend away as he moves to sit on the arm of the sofa. “So _are_ you gonna respond to him?” He asks with a genuine spark of interest lighting up his eyes.

“Well yes obviously!” Mark manages to push out, feeling the way his skin heats a little more each second. 

“So what’s stopping you?” The older presses; Mark finds the frayed ends of his school jumper to be particularly interesting at this moment in time.

“We’re not telling you what to do.” Taeyong interjects, a look somewhere between panic and giddy excitement framing his face. “I just think, why not… y’know? Take a chance! We miss 100% of the opportunities we don’t take. Don’t write this one off before you even try talking to the guy.” 

Mark has no idea why his brother’s suddenly turned into a life coach, but he speaks with a surety that only comes from personal experience. He hates to admit it, but Taeyong is right once again. 

In the back of his mind, memories of a younger, quieter Taeyong surface. He’d watched as his brother's shoulders had tensed whenever _he_ had entered the house, how the teen hung his head whenever the gruff voice brought up the topic of girls and relationships. Mark hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood how that had all just, disappeared. How his brother was suddenly so free. So full of life. 

They’ve never talked about it. It’s not something Mark feels he can ask of his brother. His sweet, loving brother who’s already been through too much. 

But he thinks he understands now, as he watches a delicate hand run fingers through soft, black hair. 

He’d taken a chance on a boy, so maybe Mark should do the same. 

♡

7:29 pm

The bright screen of Mark's phone blinks back at him, showing the minutes ticking away to a backdrop of a (particularly terrible) picture of Hyuck. He can feel the boy staring back at him through the phone; frozen features twisting into a taunting grin. Daring him.

He looks down to the thin paper between his fingers. It’s corners have begun to curl up with the abuse of his constant fiddling and the shaky line of his smiley face is threatening to smudge beneath his clammy hands. 

He keeps peering through the window, pushing his thin white curtains aside to check for any signs of life from the other boy. 

Truthfully, he doesn’t want to see him directly; he’s not sure whether he could stand that level of mortification without dissolving into a sad little puddle of regret. Still, he can’t help the part of him that so desperately wants to see the way Johnny's hands look as they run through his chocolate-brown hair once again. 

Taeyong and Doyoung had left him a little over an hour ago, patting his back and ruffling his hair as they relayed their words of encouragement. He feels like he could use their company now, because suddenly his small room feels oh so big and he can’t help but shrink with the way loneliness near clings to him. 

It’s just a piece of paper, he really isn’t quite sure why he’s getting so worked up over it; although, to give credit where it’s due, Mark _has_ always been a horrible over-thinker.

He’s already been over his list of theories with Taeyong, each being debunked and/or torn apart by the elder, which strangely left him feeling more stressed-out than he was before. He decides he won’t question it for fear of sending himself spiralling any further than he already has.

Hearing the paper crinkle beneath him, he desperately tries to smooth out the creased edges; feeling the thin material whine in protest at his actions. If he keeps this up much longer, Johnny won’t be able to read his message through the wrinkles.

He should just get it over with. Let deft fingers tape the sheet to his window pain. Feel the cool brush against his tired hands.

The tape’s just in his desk drawer. It could be oh so easy if he let it.

Before his mind can catch up, he’s lunging for the wooden bureau and tugging it open with a little too much force. It’s contents come spilling out, littering Marks carpeted floor with colourful knick-knacks and key chains from long forgotten trips alike. He pays it no mind; he can sort it later.

He sees the light blue of the tape dispenser hiding beneath last year's journal; discarded along with the rest of his stationery supplies. Pulling it out, he wastes no time in tearing off a few strips, slapping them unceremoniously onto each corner of the white sheet. 

It’s haphazard at best, the corners curling up against the binding where it’s stuck to the table. Steeling his nerves, he peels it away to give it a final look.

‘hey johnny, i’m mark! and my knee’s fine thank you haha :]’

With shaking hands, he pushes the curtains back and clears his way to the window. The room opposite is still bare, but Mark sees the faint glow of yellow fluorescent lights creeping under the door.

Heart in his mouth he surges forward, pressing the page to the inside of his own pane; finally matching the one that quivers slightly, against the barely ajar window next door. 

Remembering his earlier promise to his friends, he pulls his phone out from his trouser pocket. The _click_ has barely even sounded as he tucks it back into his jeans, nerves still on high alert.

He manages to duck back in as the room’s door cracks open, golden light spilling into the empty space and across the honey skin of the boy who inhabits it, as he steps inside. 

By now, the sun is quickly fading, washing the entire side of the cream-coloured house in shades of red; almost making Johnny miss the small box of creamy white interrupting it. 

Sure enough, waving in the april breeze, is a small piece of white paper.

The smile on Johnny’s face could rival the moon.


	2. Talk Me Through The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets a little closer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> third time lucky???? 😭😭😭😭😭
> 
> OMFG YES FINALLY THIS WAS MY THORD TIME TRYING TI PIST THIS CHAPTER IM GONNA CRY_€€\€$~$
> 
> n e way happy reading!

Mark would be lying if he said his night was restful. He found himself tossing and turning in a sleep too light to hold him truly captive. His mind buzzed with fruitless thought, tying itself in knots with the way it curved and dipped between each image it created. So when his 7:30 am alarm begins to buzz on his nightstand, he finds himself cracking open aching eyes to silence it. 

His room is still dark, save for the silvery morning light creeping under his drawn curtains. The mere sight of them sends his heart kicking once again, begging to be set free from it’s confines and into the open world. 

He so desperately wants to pull them open, rip them apart and bathe in the sun's pale glow. He wants to look across the gap between the windows and see a response, hung and waiting for him; cheap paper floating in the wind. 

Sucking in a breath, he pushes his duvet down and it pools at his feet, letting the cold chill of the room cling to his skin. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and lets out a grateful hum at the comfort his soft carpet provides. He lets his feet carry him, guiding him to stand behind his desk; pensive hands raised slightly in front of him. 

The air almost crackles beneath his fingertips, seemingly alight with some kind of electricity. He can feel the rough cotton of the white material grazing his sensitive skin. 

Closing his eyes, he reaches forward to cast the veil aside and feel the dilute sunlight trace across his skin. It almost takes his breath away. Washing his entire body in a fizzy warmth. 

With anticipation gnawing at his bones, he lets his lids slowly slip open. Bright white erupts in front of him, making him shield his eyes from the garish sheen; but almost just as quickly as it had appeared, it gently recedes. As the light fades to a dull glow, he’s finally able to see the worn white frame of the window opposite. He takes his time admiring the crusted paint job. White peels around the edges to reveal long, thin scars of wood carved into the pale backdrop, stretching smoothly across its length.

He knows he’s being ridiculous. The thought alone however, is not enough to warrant any further action. 

The pane reflects the pearlescent, purple hues of a cool spring sunrise- no ok, he really should just rip off the bandaid.

Attempting to give it no further thought, he drags his eyes upwards. 

Mark thinks his heart might have actually gotten stuck in his throat with the way he feels the need to gasp for air. Sure enough, another response awaits him in lieu of the previous.

“oh i’m glad! :] seemed like u were distracted by something… nice view maybe? ;)”

Mark finds himself re-reading the short message over and over, feeling the way heat creeps into his cheeks a little more intensely each time. 

He’d been caught. 

Briefly, he entertains the idea of jumping out of his godforsaken window and catching a flight to some remote island off the coast of Costa Rica. However, he then remembers the fact that the last time he cooked for himself, he set rice on fire. Now, he may be an angsty teen, but he’ll sure as hell take embarrassment over starvation.

Resolving to cringe further over this revelation later, Mark turns away from the object of offence and towards the sweet hums of his brother's voice, drifting lazily over the radio blasting in the kitchen. 

♡

“There is NO heterosexual explanation for that!” Donghyuck practically squeals at Mark as they cross the school courtyard on their way to the canteen. The younger boy is hanging off his arm, an ecliptic smile ever present on his sun kissed face as Mark recounts the morning’s events. 

Their other friends are yet to join them, providing Mark with a much needed opportunity to spill his guts to his best friend. He giggles along as Hyuck makes yet another _wild_ deduction.

“Lee Donghyuck, that man is the straightest thing I’ve ever seen! There’s no way. Sorry to ruin your lil’ wattpad fanfic there bud.” Mark refuses to sound dejected when he lets out a quiet sigh, causing a sad smile to pull at his lips.

“Ok but _you’re_ not.” The other answers; pulling out the vowels.

It must be pretty clear that Mark isn’t following, because Hyuck simply rolls his eyes and continues on “I _meannnnnn_ you, Mark Lee, are the _gayest_ man I’ve ever seen. There’s no way he’s missed the fact you practically radiate rainbows. No het man would fuck with that! And that, my friend, was straight up flirting” 

Mark has to laugh. He feels the corners of his lips curl up as a soft giggle spills from his mouth, making him shake his head in disbelief.

“Ok, well fuck you.” he replys sweetly, earning him a raspberry from the other. “But seriously, I’m not _that_ gay am I?” Mark pouts, turning his puffy lips to the younger boy in his signature “kicked puppy” pleading face.

The other simply burst out laughing at the sight of his best friend attempting to be cute; which only serves to make Mark’s pout deepen. Hyuck just shoves him away, eliciting an offended whine from the elder as he attempts to regain his footing on the still slightly dew-damp grass. 

“I think you know what I’m trying to say Mark.” Donghyuck breathes out as Mark returns to his side again; tone suddenly shifting to something much more sober, “Don’t think I’m stupid. I know you’re ignoring the most important point here. Just don’t overthink it, yeah? You don’t have to rush into anything, just talk to him. Besides, he made the first move.” 

As Mark finally turns to meet his eyes, he sees the way the smile on Hyuck's face is so very warm. The crinkle of his eyes alone is enough to make Mark feel safe and giddy and like he really _is_ understood. It reminds him why they’re best friends in the first place. 

Because despite the fact that Hyuck’s loud and sarcastic and a little too honest, Mark knows he’s also beautiful and kind and caring to a fault. He’d never do any serious harm; despite the way he likes to play the devil. Mark knows he can trust him. He always has and probably always will. Because where he falls flat in self confidence, Donghyuck is quite literally bursting at the seams. Mark knows that boy would give him his heart and soul; one flirting tip at a time.

Letting a sunny grin spread to his eyes, he nods his head a little; relishing in the way his best friend pumps his golden fists in the air as he throws his head back in a triumphant laugh.

“You won’t regret this Mark Lee. We’re gonna charm the shit outta that boy!” Donghyuck singsongs as he skips ahead, face turned to the sun.

Mark thinks he likes the sound of that.

♡

Glancing again at his dimmed phone screen, Mark realises belatedly, that he’s never made it home this fast in his entire life. He can feel it in the way his feet ache, arches throbbing from the way they slapped down on the cold concrete of the sidewalks threading through the village. 

With barely a thought, he lets his coat slip from his shoulders -if the lack of life filling the house's empty halls is anything to go by, Mark can assume Taeyong isn’t back yet- smiling lightly to himself, he leaves the garment in a crumpled heap on the wooden floor of the entryway. Tossing his beat up black rucksack in the same direction, he briefly surveys his mess before whipping his head back around and making a beeline for the staircase. 

He listens intently to the low groan of old wood beneath his feet as he takes the steps two at a time. He can practically hear Taeyong’s chides in his mind, whining about how _“50% of accidents happen in your own home”_ in that parental tone he’s come to adopt. Mark rolls his eyes fondly.

Coming to the end of the banister, he feels his heart rate begin to thump in his ears to the beat of his hollow foot-steps on the wooden flooring. He really _is_ going to do this. 

He shoves his bedroom door open with a little more force than necessary, causing it to hit the plastered wall with a bang. Mark can’t find it in himself to care, let alone check to see the damage; he’s far too wired right now. It’s quite remarkable how still he’s managing to keep his mind as nervous chills run across his skin. Only one thought is circling over and over, gently whispered into his ear like a temptation he just can’t resist. 

Feeling his hands begin to shake a little, he pushes through to the far side of his room so he can stand in that all too familiar spot.

Across the way, he sees the morning's message still quivering in the light breeze. One of the corners is a little crinkled now. Mark can see the way the crease has been smoothed out by steady fingers, tape carefully placed over the ridge where it’s attached to the glass pane. It’s almost like some sort of battle wound, as if it has fought to be there. 

Strangely, that notion makes a small fire begin to smoulder in Mark's chest. Its flames lick just shy of his heart; their delicate ribbons not quite strong enough yet.

Shaking his head a little, in an attempt to dismiss the strange array of thoughts that had managed to cloud his original intentions, he swallows hard as his mind comes back to him. 

Flipping open his spiral bound notebook, he grabs the nearest felt tip and begins to write in thick black letters. He can’t help the nervous grin that comes to him with the familiarity of his actions, bringing back the flurry of butterflies the first message had left him with. 

What he's about to do is a major risk.

He knows this will force them past the stage of acquaintances and he has no clue if the other boy shares his eagerness to converse. However, as Donghyuck had so eloquently put it earlier on, Mark “might as well give it a shot, if it goes tits over ass then cé la vie.” 

So despite the fact that he failed French last year, he’s still latching onto that statement with everything he has, as his cheap marker traces out the last digit. 

Choosing not to think, he simply rips the page out before he slaps a smudged piece of tape on each corner and presses it to the cold glass in front of him. His shuddering breaths seems to ripple through him, leaving his veins coursing hot from the stupid adrenaline of his (Donghyuck’s) stupid decision. 

Taking slow steps back towards his still wide open door, he gives himself a second to admire the way the sun cuts through the thin paper, highlighting the black against its translucent background. Despite writing it himself, Mark has to take a second to read it backwards one last time.

“hmmm it _was_ quite a view ;) perhaps you could let me know when i can see it again 202-555-0150”

Face flushing and regret already gripping at his skin, he turns 180 degrees and locks the bedroom door as soon as he’s on the other side. 

_Now, he waits._

♡

It’s around 8 o’clock when Mark hears his phone ping. The shrill tone manages to carry from the living room, where the device had been discarded on the sofa, into the kitchen and over the soft, crackly radio. 

He’s currently perched on the counter top, watching Taeyong write up some important looking coursework as the elder scrunches his brows in concentration. From the lack of reaction, Mark can assume Taeyong didn’t hear the notification bell that sounded only seconds ago. He supposes that’s a good thing as he’s obviously absorbed in his work.

Mark contemplates going to check it for a few moments, reluctant to leave his place in the golden afternoon sun; his brother always insists on opening the blinds when he works, claiming that natural light makes him _”less likely to throw himself off a building”._ Feeling the way the calming warmth licks at his face from where it streams through the large downstairs windows, Mark thinks he might have to try it out for himself. 

In reality, the only people who would be likely to text him right now would either be Donghyuck, or the groupchat. Neither would require _particularly_ hasty answers, that’s for sure, so he remains basking in the sun's maple shadow for a while longer.

In fact, it’s only after the last traces of yellow beams have vanished, that Mark slides off the marble countertop. With a sickening crack -leaving poor Taeyong practically heaving- Mark stretches out his stiff joints in a vaguely cat-like manner.

After his brother’s glare has successfully burned a hole in the side of his head, he looks up to check the clock hanging just above the kitchen door. The little hand is just edging it’s way towards ten, leaving Mark slightly taken aback at the amount of time that's somehow managed to elapse. Exiting as quietly as possible, he turns towards the living room in search of his phone.

Sure enough, as he enters he sees the device lying face down on the sofa cushions; just where he left it. Lazily, he snatches it up before turning back and taking long deliberate steps in the direction of the stairs.

Pressing the on button, the black screen suddenly comes to life with a flurry of notifications. He swipes away the pointless facebook friend requests from distant relatives he hardly knows, and instead goes straight to the message app; it’s corner displaying an angry red circle with a seven inside. 

Just as expected there’s a few messages on the group chat and a separate text from Donghyuck wishing him luck. He won’t lie, that one stumps him for a second as he wracks his brain for what he could have been doing that would require luck of any sort.

He’s still mulling it over, slight crease beginning to creep into his forehead, when he sees a strange message. 

Three contacts down in his inbox, is a text from an unknown number. A simple, “hey” followed by, “is this ur weird way of saying i looked fit?”

Mark is completely baffled for a moment before it all comes back to him: his flirty response (as suggested by Donghyuck) and giving his neighbor his number (hence the texts from unknown).

Having pieced together the situation, Mark begins to flush a deep shade of red as he once again takes in the image on his screen. Oh god Donghyuck had judged it all wrong! His last remark was _wayyy_ too forward and now this poor guy’s probably all weirded out by his creepy, awkward ass. Amazing!

Huffing to himself as he finally begins to accept his fate, he moves to add the number into his contacts. It’s then that he _also_ realises, these were the messages that came through at 8pm. 

So not only has he made himself seem like some sort of predator, he’s also kept Johnny waiting for the better part of two hours. Mark feels the shame come crashing down on him as he finally moves from his position at the bottom of the staircase. Slowly, he brings the heels of his palms to his temple and rubs harshly, as his phone still dangles loosely between his fingers. 

Casting a cautionary glance to check Taeyong hasn’t moved from where he’s sitting in the kitchen, Mark makes a move to escape to the safety of his bedroom. If he’s going to text Johnny back, he decides he may as well be in the comfort of his own bed so he can hide his face in his fluffy comforter when he inevitably says something cringy. With this in mind, he once again ascends the stairs, creeps along the corridor and slips into his bedroom. 

Thankfully, Mark’s bed is positioned in a way that makes it completely impossible to see when looking into the room from outside; which is a godsend in itself as he catches a glimpse of the yellow glow of a lamp in the corner of Johnny room. Needless to say, Mark practically throws himself across the carpet and onto his mountain of cushions at his headrest.

Thumbs twitching, he opens the chat once again. 

His first reaction is obviously to text Donghyuck and get his advice on what the fuck he’s suppost to say in this situation, but he knows the other boy will only give him shit and potentially not even help. His other options include his equally prying and potentially useless friends, Taeyong the disgusting romantic or the 14 year old kid he baby sits on Tuesday nights. 

At this point, Mark thinks he might trust the views of 8th grade Jisung over any of his other options. Then again, he was absolutely _not_ about to bother the poor kid with his pathetic love life.

Breathing possibly the most dramatic sigh in the entire history of overly hormonal teenagers, he decides this is a problem he must resolve himself.

Taking a breath through his nose, he lets his fingers tap out a response and sends it before he has the opportunity to second guess himself.

 **Johnny:** hey  
**Johnny:** is this ur weird way of saying i looked fit?

 **Mark:** haha maybe…  
**Mark:** would there b a problem if it was? 

He momentarily curses his impromptu confidence, before he sees a typing bubble immediately appear on Johnny’s side of the chat.

 **Johnny:** no problem at all sunset boy ;)

Mark feels his heart quite literally stop in his chest. He knows a ridiculous smile is creeping onto his face, but right now, he honestly thinks he could do very little to stop it. Relief spreads like honey through his entire body, coating his fingertips down to his toes in a languid sort of safety.

He had just strongly implied that he was attracted to his seemingly straight neighbor, and said neighbor had done nothing to rebuff him? If Mark was feeling confident he’d say he even went as far as to _encourage_ him. Now _this_ is certainly a turn of events.

 **Mark:** already giving me a nickname i c...  
**Mark:** mind me asking where it came from? :]

Mark thinks he might actually combust.

 **Johnny:** hmmm well maybe u don’t remember but i seem to recall our first meeting taking place at sunset  
**Johnny:** yk… when i caught u staring and then u ate shit trying to run away :>

Mark is definitely going to combust.

 **Mark:** funny i seem to remember none of that :D  
**Mark:** also that’s kinda cute… ^_^

Mark can feel the fire taking over his entire body.

 **Johnny:** a cute name for a cute boy

♡

The way Johnny types is somehow _so_ very addictive.

Mark can feel his heart flutter at each little, carefully constructed emoji. Smiles pull freely at his lips with the arrival of each good morning text, leaving him still grinning like an idiot as he trudges down for breakfast with Taeyong; the elder throwing him wary looks. 

Since that night, they’ve taken to chatting intermittently throughout the day. Anything and everything is their playground, ranging from cute dog pictures to their views on aliens and conspiracies. Not to sound whipped, but Mark’s genuinely not sure he’s ever been happier. 

After getting over the initial shock that he was in fact talking to his _extremely_ hot neighbor, he came to realise that Johnny was literally a normal person. A normal person who was funny and quick witted and absolutely determined to make Mark a blushing, stuttering mess; the man is nothing if not a flirt. 

So far, he’s managed to dodge the questions he can tell his brother is desperate to ask. For the past few days, he’s taken to simply shoving a piece of toast into his mouth and sprinting out the door; school bag already packed and in hand. 

While that’s worked increasingly well up until now, it’s currently a Saturday. And as if the situation wasn’t already dire enough, Doyoung is _also_ here. 

While a prying Taeyong is a force to be reckoned with, it’s truly nothing compared to the absolute inertia that is Kim Doyoung. If curiosity killed that cat, then his brother's boyfriend would surely be down to the last of his nine lives. 

Mark knows he’ll crack this morning, that’s why he’s trying so very hard not to let the sweet crackling of bacon lure him into a false sense of security as it leads him down the stairs. He can already hear their idle chatter, playing softly over quiet pop music that hums in the background. It’s already near half eleven: if he doesn’t make an entrance soon he knows they’ll come to him. 

With a final reassuring breath, Mark takes a step towards the kitchen door; phone, with a new text notification on the screen, hanging loosely in his hand. 

Utterly unsurprisingly, he’s ambushed the second he steps through the wooden frame. A tall, lean figure wraps their arms around his back, black hair falling into Mark's face from where his head is brought to rest near a sturdy shoulder. He knows from the scent alone that it’s Doyoung; a rich pine aroma from an expensive aftershave Mark helped Taeyong pick out last Christmas. He lets himself smile into the embrace, enjoying his last moments of freedom before he’s subjected to intense questioning over a fry-up. 

Doyoung pulls away to the tune of Taeyong’s airy chuckle, vibrant grin adorning his delicate features as he smiles down at the younger boy. 

“Marky, it's been like a week! I can't believe this, I missed you so much!” The older coos somewhere between sarcasm and genuine sincerity.

“Doie, you’re so dramatic.” Mark rolls his eyes as he pushes his brother's boyfriend lightly away, leading said boyfriend to gasp in mock offence and bury his head in Taeyong’s shoulder.

“Yongie, he's a real teanager now. He doesn’t love us anymore!” Doyoung practically shrieks as he shakes the other by his shirt; leaving Taeyong looking considerably unimpressed. However, once the older has regained his balance again, he’s bringing his hand to pet at the soft black hairs of his boyfriends' nape, while muttering various variations of “it’s ok” to ‘console’ him. 

Mark can once again barely hold back a frown at how sickly sweet they are, but now, he feels a strange pang in his own heart as he longs to feel that kind of connection with someone. Perhaps a certain someone, someone who turns his knees to mush every morning when he slips a little heart into his texts. 

Forgetting his place in the universe for a second, he feels strong arms wrap around him, holding him close to a broad chest that seems to radiate warmth. He lets out a sigh, feeling the tingling down his spine as deft fingers lace into the long strands at the back of his head, curling them around his nail beds and sending a shiver tearing through Mark's body.

It’s an impatient sounding ping that brings him back to the room.

Choosing not to wonder if the sound had caught the mushy couple's attention, he lifts the screen to his face and unlocks it in one practiced motion. He knows who it will be before he even looks at the text; and just the thought sends butterflies erupting in his veins. 

Sure enough, he smiles lightly as he opens the message app to two notifications from Johnny. He can feel the way red seeps into his cheeks.

 **Johnny:** morning sleepy, it’s 11:20 and i haven’t seen u leave ur room yet -__-

_Delivered 11:21_

**Johnny** hey :-/ give me attention now ur awake 

_Delivered 11:34_

Mark has to roll his eyes to fight down the coo he can feel building in the back of his throat.

 **Mark:** gosh ur so demanding ;)  
**Mark:** i’ll msg u in a minute i’m with my brother rn :(

He knows the other boy likes to tease him. In fact, he’s not entirely unconvinced Johnny isn’t trying to give him a heart attack with the way he randomly sends cute texts like that. Mark assumes it’s some sort of sport for the boy. Naturally flirtatious people like that just can’t help themselves. Right? 

Just as he can see another typing bubble pop up on his screen, he feels a heavy hand land square on his shoulder. He lifts his gaze to a pair of cheshire cat smiles, and he knows right then and there, that Johnny’s new text will go unanswered for a while.

The two don’t even say anything as they guide him to a chair, plucking his phone from his fingers as he sits down by the counter; Mark’s just glad he had the sense to switch it off before letting it go. 

Doyoung’s smile has turned sugar-sweet in the way it does when he interrogates people: by now, Mark’s seen it many times before. However, what is truly amazing is that it never ceases to terrify him. Doyoung will make one hell of a lawyer one day. 

Mark takes a breath before just speaking up; this would be far less painful for everyone involved. “I know exactly what you’re gonna ask, so I’m just going to tell you now so you don’t have the satisfaction of weeding it out of me.” he finishes with a defeated sigh. On any other day, he’d make more of an effort to conceal his secrets, but he can see from the determined glimmer in Doyoung eye that he is absolutely not getting out of this. 

The latter fakes a disappointed sigh, but Mark can see the utter joy behind his smile at the fact that he didn’t even need to say anything for the younger to spill his guts. Taeyong stands, utterly bemused, to his left as he desperately trys to conceal his absolute awe for his boyfriend's interrogation skills. 

“I’m messaging Johnny.” Mark just decides to get it out.

He expects the few seconds of stunned silence that follow as he can see the cogs turning behind the blank expressions staring at him. Taeyong is the first to click, his eyes going comically wide as he slaps Doyoung’s back in what Mark assumes is excitement.

“Johnny? As the neighbor boy who sent you into gay meltdown?” his brother speaks through a thick smile that lights up his already sparkling eyes.

Mark barely nods before he’s being crushed in a hug by both of the other boys. He can hear Doyoung laughing in his ear while Taeyong pets the back of his head. It feels so nice like this. Just the three of them, stood in a kitchen while Mark gushes about the flirty messages Johnny sends him.

“So are you ready to admit I’m always right now?” his brother teases as he scrolls through Mark and Johnny’s most recent conversation. “Are you glad you took a chance?” 

The words echo around the small room. 

Mark nods his head. “Yeah. Yeah I am.” he smiles though the memory’s playing in his mind. The words had been much more loaded back then. The sweetness had been laced with venom as they were fired from the front door down the empty corridor. There’s a vague recollection of tears too. Too hot and salty as they dripped down his brother's pale face. 

Coughing lightly, he shakes the image from his mind: some things are best left forgotten. 

Judging by the slightly sour edge creeping into Taeyong’s smile, he can tell his brother feels the exact same. No one says anything about it, but Mark feels the way they all steal themselves, locking the moment away in the darkest corners of their minds where it belongs. 

Mark can only hope it stays there.

♡

The little hand of the old clock in Mark's room is getting dangerously close to 12am for a Sunday. Brazen orange light spills onto his English textbook from his cheap desk lamp, the intensity is starting to burn his eyes and he finds himself dragging his palms over them yet again to try and rid them of their haze. 

At this point, he’s getting dangerously close to giving up. How much credit could he really lose if he didn’t turn in this project? On second thought he’d rather not think about it.

Letting out a frustrated groan, he drops his head to the wood of the desk with a thunk. It’s with his cheeks smushed against the (far too empty) lined pages of his textbook, that he feels the vibration of his phone against the table. 

Too exhausted to sit up, he blindly stretches out his hand, reaching around in the vague direction of where he set it down. With only minimal disturbance of his precariously placed books and study guides, he managed to drag the device towards himself.

The text that greets him takes him a little by surprise.

 **Johnny:** call me

Mark stares dumbly at the two words on his screen for a few seconds too long, before remembering he is currently sat _right_ in front of his window and should he want too, Johnny would be able to see the current confused expression adorning his face. Needles to say, his bemusement is soon schooled.

Deciding now is ‘definitely not the time to start thinking too much’ he lets his fingers tap the call button before his brain can even properly process the movement. He lays his head in his hands as he switches to speaker phone while the dials ring through. On about the fourth tone, he picks up.

“Oh thank god, I was getting fed up of seeing your miserable face stare wistfully out the window. “ A surprisingly deep voice spills through the line. It sounds thick, almost like maple syrup as it seems to swim through Marks ears.

He realises, perhaps a second to late, that this is the first time he’s ever heard the boy’s voice. 

In a strange way it seems fitting. It’s thick and smooth and so deliciously quiet in these wee hours of the morning. That seems to suit the tall, dark stranger aesthetic Johnny is unknowingly pulling off.

Hearing a small, breathy laugh from the other side, Mark realises he’s been quiet for too long.

“Johnny, I’m doing homework. I don’t think you can blame me for wishing I was _literally_ anywhere else.” Mark sends back, his own voice hushed as it carries a tad lower across the line.

He hears Johnny snicker once again.

“Mmm I see,” the other responds “Well anyway, I came to say that your desk lamp was keeping me awake.” he finishes without his previous teasing lilt. 

Mark feels himself physically deflate. He wasn’t really sure what he expected when he was met with a request for a late night call from Johnny; but it most certainly wasn’t this. Surely he could have just texted.

Letting out a heavy sigh and trying not to stutter through his response, Mark once again speaks up “O-oh my god I’m so sorry!” he blurts out, raising his voice slightly too high for the late hour. He can feel his head begin to pound as silence meets him from the other end of the line. 

Lack of sleep, mixed with confusion and slight disappointment, refuse to let him catch on when Johnny starts chuckling gently from the phone speaker. The younger just furrows his brows before sitting bolt upright, annoyance beginning to prickle his skin.

However, the sight across from him is enough to cool the beginnings of anger festering on his skin. In the window opposite sits Johnny, in the position Mark has seen so many times now. But tonight, he looks different. He looks… soft. His brown hair tumbles over his eyes in fluffy clumps, looking inexplicably candy-floss esque in the silver shadow of the moon. Honey skin glows in the paling light, casting an aura of warmth around the boy as he shrinks further into his oversized sweatshirt; sleeves reaching down to give him two adorable sweater paws. 

Mark is lost for words as he simply stares, mesmerised. All the while, Johnny looks right back at him, gentle eyes seeing into his soul as he presses his phone tight against his ear.

“I’m sorry, that was meant to be a joke.” He smiles sheepishly at Mark who could swear he saw a blush creeping up the apples of the other boy’s cheeks.

Instead of commenting, he just chooses to hum before replying with a small “S’okay.” in return.

Johnny sends across a sleepy smile, the unguarded kind that makes your eyes scrunch up and lips seem a bit lopsided. Mark thinks his heartbeat might have suddenly doubled in speed. 

After a few seconds the boy across from him speaks up again “I um- actually saw your light on and how you looked all mopey and thought… maybe you could do with some early morning company.”

Mark finds the statement comes out as more of a question, a tinge of insecurity infiltrating Johnny’s otherwise confident voice and shattering his cool persona. And it’s then, that Mark notices the slight shake of the other boy’s hand where he holds the phone close to his ear. A looks further down shows Johnny’s bobbing knee, springing up and down as if he’s trying to shake out his anxiety.

Mark practically melts.

Here was Johnny, tired and nervous and probably a million and one other things that Mark would never know, using their first call to check in on Mark and help him through his probable all nighter.

The moment it all clicks, he knows he can do nothing to keep the smile off his face, so instead, he directs it at Johnny. He shows him all his thankfulness and flattery and the million and one other things he feels that he hopes the boy will never come to decipher. 

Johnny Suh is really working his way into his heart.

“Thank you, I’d really like that.”

“Whatever you want, sunset boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tysroses)  
> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/taeyongieluvsu)  
> thank u to my [beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopeeatscds) ur so sexc aha ha


	3. Let Me In (Just A Little)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny’s scared, Marks confused and a little honesty goes a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol let’s pretend it didn’t take me this long to produce... this

**Mark:** hey  
**Mark:** so i was wondering if u wanted to come out with me n my friends this weekend?

_Read 7:45_

“What the fuck?” Hyuck almost shouts as he thrusts Mark’s phone back into the mildly startled boy’s hands.

“Is he ghosting you?” Jaemin questions from next to him, leaning his head on Mark's shoulder to get a better view of the screen. He can only sigh in response, because truthfully, he really doesn’t know. 

Subconsciously, he replays their handful of phone calls over the past week, searching for awkward moments or remarks that could have been taken the wrong way. He even combs through their text messages, finding nothing but easy flowing conversations and a scattering of keyboard hearts. He comes up empty. 

In reality, he supposes that’s probably a good thing, but right now it’s no use in helping him decipher just what the fuck led to him being rejected so thoroughly.

Jeno sighs from across the cafeteria table “S’shame. I really wanted to see if he was as hot as you said.” Dongyuck’s quick to hit him up the side of his head, leaving the other boy scowling in his direction with a muttered apology falling from his lips. 

“Well I, for one, would like to cash in my two cents.” Donghyuck speaks up once again as he shakes out the hand he used to smack Jeno. “Men ain’t shit.” He stands at his proclamation, gesturing to his audience to begin their applause. None follows; Mark cracks a smile at that.

His best friend huffs as he sits back down, grinning when he catches the slight lift of Mark’s lips. The older is quick to roll his eyes; unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of cheering him up right now. Still, he feels the light kick Hyuck sends under the table for him, just to let him know he’s there and listening if he needs to talk. 

Now while Mark would never admit it, that stupid little gesture sends a wave of comfort crashing over him, smoothing out the tense set of his shoulders and relaxing the white-kunckle grip he has on his school cutlery. He knows there’s a hint of a smile playing at his lips once again, but he doesn’t have the heart to hide it away this time.

Watching a pleased smirk wash over the lines of Donghyuck’s face, he snorts out a breathy laugh; that boy has _always_ been able to read him like a god-damn book. 

♡

By the time Mark has sat through double maths, suffered nomin gushing about Huang Renjun _and_ made the twenty minute trek from school to home in the pouring rain, he no longer feels the disappointment clinging to his skin as it had earlier on in the day. No, now he just feels the way the cheap material of his knit sweatshirt sticks to his bare chest, hanging from his shoulders like a dead weight in all its pathetic, sodden glory. 

Well, that and a bubbling resentment searing away at his stomach lining as he stands dripping in the cold entryway. It’s been a whole eight hours since Johnny read his text and still not a word. No explanation. No excuse. No contact at all.

Mark can’t lie, it’s really eaten away at him without his friends to calm his racing mind on his walk home. He can feel his insecurity’s creeping to the surface, sinking their claws in hard, as they’re finally released after being so desperately repressed all day. 

Is he really such a _fucking loser_ that he can’t keep someone interested for more than two weeks? Is he annoying? Is he weird? Is he too forward? Does he expect too much? 

He doesn’t have the answers and that’s what’s killing him. At least if he _knew_ what he did, he could try and fix it, or at the very least apologise. But then again, he couldn’t very well apologise for being desperate.

Letting a frustrated sigh drag from the back of his throat, he drops his school bag to the floor; uncaring of where it lands. He’s just about to kick his shoes after it when he sees the shadow of a tall figure standing at the end of the hall. The way their hip presses into the door frame indicates they’ve been standing there for a while, watching on in hushed concern, only serving to make the light tremor in Mark's fingers almost double in intensity.

He knows the quiet is growing awkward, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet the questioning eyes he feels on his face just yet. Instead, he steals himself when he hears a soft exhale drift across the space between them.

“Marky?” Her voice is just as sweet as always, warm tones coaxing him a little further into the house. 

He chokes out a shaky breath, he will _not_ cry in front of her.

The clicking of heels breaks the silence this time and Mark almost forgets to swallow down his sob as two delicate arms wrap around his shoulders. Feather-light fingertips barely graze over the material sticking to his back; leaving little trails of comfort in their wake. He allows himself to bury his head in the rich satin hanging from the shoulders covering his front, breathing in the familiarly sweet scent of ‘La vie est belle’. Blinking back the tears that sting his tired eyes, he finally allows himself to lift his head a little and meet the kind gaze of the woman above him. 

Deft fingers stroke through his rain-soaked hair before coming to rest at his cheeks, rubbing placating circles into his cold skin. Her smile is kind but so obviously fake.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” She asks in that distinctly maternal tone of hers.

With only a few inches between them, Mark can see the shimmer that sits behind her eyes. He wants to brush away the tears that haven’t yet fallen or tell her he’s fine and that she shouldn’t worry, but right now, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to lie to her.

“Rough day.” He whispers back, voice coming out thick and deep with emotion.

“Can I help?” 

Her tone is so soft that Mark just wants to cry. It’s not often he sees her like this, hell it’s not often he sees her at all with her busy schedule and tendency to work all hours, but he can feel the way his body relaxes in her embrace.

“You _are_ helping.” He mumbles back, speaking the words into the soft material of her blouse as he tucks his head back into his mother’s neck. 

♡

By 5 o’clock, Mark has managed to calm the shaking in his hands to a mild tremor. He’s been standing in the bathroom for about half an hour now, gently brushing handfuls of cold water over his face and through his hair.

This isn’t the first minor heart break he’s suffered.

Pushing all lingering thoughts to the back of his mind, he pats his face gently with his softest towel and makes his way back down the hallway to his bedroom. He tries not to think as he sinks into his favourite grey sweater - uncomfy wet clothes discarded long ago- and goes to sit in the middle of his small bed. Determined not to think, he pulls out his phone from his back pocket and begins to mindlessly scroll through youtube.

Lifestyle vlogs have always been a guilty pleasure of his, watching as the host talks with bubbly enthusiasm about their new favourite clothing brand, or a cute café they managed to stumble on while out on their travels; it serves to distract him if nothing else.

Just as the fourth video begins loading on his screen, a sharp ringing breaks through the comfortable silence of the room. It takes Mark a few seconds to actually process what’s happening and a few after that to get his hazy eyes to focus on the name written in the middle of his phone. 

Johnny.

His brows instantly furrow in confusion. Why would Johnny be phoning him after leaving him on read and proceeding to ignore him all day? That literally makes no sense.

Rubbing the pads of his fingers harshly against his eyes, he attempts to break whatever mirage his desperate brain has somehow created. Blinking away the black spots in his vision, he turns his attention back to the ringing phone in front of him. When he looks down at the screen, he fully expects to see Hyuckie -with a little devil emoji next to it- displayed in white against the black background, or maybe even Taeyong’s name -followed by several hearts- painted across his phone screen. What he doesn’t expect however, is for Johnny’s name to _still_ be looking back at him, near blinding in the dim light of the small room. 

Mark just sits there slack jawed.

The audacity of this man, thinking he can leave him to over analyse every single one of their interactions all day, only to phone again at night as if everything is completely normal. Mark has half a mind to not pick up. In fact, he’s decided that he’ll let it go to voicemail, until a little voice in the back of his head begins to whisper in his ear.

What if everything isn’t fine? There’s no reason for him to assume that just because Johnny’s phoning him, everything is normal. On the contrary, in actuality the very fact that Johnny _is_ phoning him after ignoring him all day, would suggest something is wrong. What? Mark has no idea. All he knows is that he needs to find out even if it might hurt him; he at least needs some closure.

Hand moving of its own accord, Mark jabs the answer call button with only a few rings to spare. Picking up the warm device, he placed it next to his ear as a crackly voice seeps through the speaker.

“Thank God, I thought you weren’t gonna pick up.” Johnny sighs out across the line. His voice sounds a little higher pitched than usual, almost as if his stress has somehow infiltrated his words, pulling apart their usual easy flow.

Mark lets a few seconds pass by in quiet contemplation, trying to figure out himself where he wants this conversation to go “I wasn’t.” he answers back coolly; apparently passive aggression is the route he’s taking. 

He hears Johnny make a noise somewhere between confusion and genuine hurt across the line; looks like he’ll be needing to explain.

“Look man, I don’t know if you just didn’t notice or something, but you left me on read all fucking day. I asked if you wanted to hang out and you just ignored me. I think I’m allowed to be pissed at you.” he finishes, his cool demeanour slipping a little further every second. 

In all honesty, he feels a bit guilty for not even giving Johnny the chance to voice his point of view before he berates him, but at this point, he’s just so tired of dealing with his stupid feelings that he’s not sure he could hold back even if he wanted to.

“...Yeah,” Johnny starts, seemingly a little taken aback at Mark’s unusually harsh tone. “That’s what I was calling to talk about.” he almost whispers.

Mark expected as much, but the gentle touch to the others' voice takes him by surprise. He presses a non committal sound into the speaker, letting Johnny know to continue.

The other begins with a stuttered response, “So um… look this is gonna sound weird however I say it, so, I’m just gonna get it out there.” he breathes out in a continuous string of words. “My parents are strict… I mean like really strict, n’ basically long story short, I can’t leave the house.”

“You can’t leave the house?” Mark questions flatly.

Johnny must be able to hear the distrust in his voice, because he’s quick to rush back in and explain further. “I did something.. stupid. Actually, wait no it wasn’t stupid… They’re just old and don’t understand, or like they don’t _want_ to understand and… you know?”

Mark thinks he knows all too well. “Yeah, I know.”

“And basically, that’s why we moved here. They thought if they took me away from my _‘problem’,_ then it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Which is stupid cause it’s already happening again.”

This catches Mark’s attention. “What’s happening again?” This time his question is genuine, actual curiosity for this mysterious boy filling him again.

“You don’t get to know that yet Mark.” Johnny answers, Mark can feel the other boys smile through the phone as he huffs in response to the half answer he received.

“But look, I wanted to phone and talk about it cause I thought I’d explain it better if I could actually talk to you. I didn’t want you to think I was rejecting you or shutting you down or something… which obviously kinda backfired.” He almost sounds sheepish now, the words warming Mark's heart (and his face) as they begin to slowly melt the ice cold state it had been in all day. 

“I’ll have you know I was shitting it all day because of you.” Mark chooses to answer, relief clear in his voice. “I thought you hated me or something, like my friends were literally ready to fight.” he laughs as he imagines Dongyuck trying to square up to all six feet of Johnny.

“God I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean for that to happen. I just needed some time to figure out how I was gonna explain it to you. And like, how much detail to go into n’ stuff...”

Mark can tell from the awkward stretching of the older’s words, that this is a topic he clearly doesn’t like talking about. That only serves to make him smile a little wider, at the fact the _he,_ Mark Lee, has been trusted with this information; sparse as it may be. 

Letting his voice come out a little softer, Mark replies “It’s ok. You didn’t know I was gonna take it that way so it’s not really your fault.” 

A little hum crackles across the line.

Letting himself sink into the comfortable quiet, Mark lets his body truly relax for the first time all day. His mind wanders to cheesy American romance movies and teenage rebellion in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

And that’s when it hits him. It’s _not_ a good idea -not by any stretch of the imagination- but he can’t help the way it seems to linger in the hush of the empty room.

“Hey Johnny?”

A gentle affirmation brushes against his ear.

“You wanna sneak out?” 

The few seconds of silence that great him seem absolutely deafening against his whispered words.

“I knew I could count on you sunset boy.”

♡

_m0rk created a group chat_

_m0rk named the group chat - operation: smells like teen spirit_

_m0rk added hyuckie_

_m0rk added jeno_

_m0rk added jaemin_

_m0rk added johnny_

**operation: smells like teen spirit**

**hyuckie:** wots this

 **jeno:** ^^^

 **jaemin:** mark is that a nirvana reference…..

 **hyuckie:** wait who’s the random number?

 **jeno:** wot if its renjun....

 **hyuckie:** why would mark have renjuns number?  
**hyuckie:** pretty sure u gotta b cool for that

 **jaemin:** lol

 **mark:** I hate u all -__-

 **hyuckie:** k

 **jaemin:** who’s the number mark?

 **mark:** u wanna introduce urself?

 **johnny:** um…. hi  
**johnny:** im johnny

 **jaemin:** JOHNNY??????

 **jeno:** AS IN MARKS HOT NEIGHBOUR JOHNNY???

 **johnny:** is that what he calls me lol?

 **hyuckie:** LMAOOOOO F

 **mark:** gonna braid ur veins uwu

 **jaemin:** hhhhhhhhh

 **johnny:** y’all r wild

 **mark:** N E WAY  
**mark:** back to the task at hand

 **hyuckie:** which is????

 **mark:** recruitment 

**jeno:** wtf

 **mark:** anyone wanna help me do something slightly illegal? <3

 **hyuckie:** yes

 **jaemin:** yes

 **jeno:** yes

 **mark:** see I told u they were fucking insane

 **johnny:** this is gonna b good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tysroses)   
>  [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/taeyongieluvsu)
> 
> my sexc [beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopeeatscds)

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tysroses)   
>  [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/taeyongieluvsu)   
>  [beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopeeatscds)


End file.
